


Riding Lesson

by ArtemisBennet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22265752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisBennet/pseuds/ArtemisBennet
Summary: Bobby Singer rides a Harley, which puts him in a mood to ride something...someone else!
Relationships: Crowley/Bobby Singer
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	Riding Lesson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Fierce Beast](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+Fierce+Beast).



> This is another piece previously published under another name, which I've moved here to keep explicit stuff separate from my other work.
> 
> It was originally written as a birthday present for my friend The Fierce Beast, who asked for motorcycles. If readers read my longer works (which have actual plot!) they may recognise the scenario from This Is Not Our Fate, which puts Bobby Singer and the King of Hell in the hometown of the Sons of Anarchy.

“You’re not doing so bad,” the outlaw biker said. He stood beside the rumbling Harley, considering its rider. “Especially as you haven’t been on a bike for how long?”

“”Fifty something years,” Bobby Singer admitted. “At least. I think I was maybe seventeen when I fell off the one my mom’s friend had. And then he beat the shit out of me even worse for denting it.”

Bobby Munson, Son of Anarchy and now trainee wizard, grinned at that but patted Bobby’s shoulder consolingly. “Yeah, well, some guys have their priorities a bit screwed up. You shoulda got back on it at the time. Anyway, why don’t you go for a burn up the road there, let me see how you do with a turn on the hill.”

*

“How’s that feel?” Munson asked as Bobby guided the Harley back to him, his movements more confident now. The powerful engine thrummed under him and into him, it felt, going right through his body. Bobby halted the bike, shifting a little at the sensations in his nether regions. Munson grinned, watching him. “Yeah. It gets you a bit worked up, you may notice. You’ll want to give somebody a whole lot of attention to deal with that buzz. Goes right through to the dick.”

His grin widened and he gestured at the bike. “You’re doing pretty well with that now and it’s not like there’s much traffic around that’s not us. Why don’t you borrow that for a bit, ride back over to your house and, uh, see how things pan out? Could be Fergus feels like a ride. I promise you; he’s gonna, after you two go for a ride on this beauty.”

“I never rode with a passenger,” Bobby said dubiously, ignoring the innuendo. You had to around the bikers; it never stopped. They didn’t have a problem with gay guys, but they loved heaping shit on people any way they could. He shrugged. At the worst, Crowley could teleport himself to safety. Bobby’s worst problem would be if he let Munson’s bike take any damage.

“You got to give me the details, that’s all I ask,” Munson said wickedly. Bobby could feel himself blushing and he mumbled something which could have been, “Yeah” or else “not a fucking chance, man.” But the rumble of the engine between his legs was getting him rock hard, so that he had to remind himself not to rub against the leather seat in front of the biker. Munson was right; all he could think of now was finding Crowley and hopefully taking care of things with him, rather than on his own!

“So, I’ll see you at the clubhouse tonight then,” the biker told him, after a few more instructions, mostly to make sure Bobby remembered what he’d been taught. He waved off Bobby’s concern that Munson would have to hike back. “Never mind, I could still stand to lose a coupla pounds, not that any of the ladies have ever complained.”

Bobby silently agreed with that. Bobby Munson might be built like your average fireplug, with a mane of uncombed curly hair and beard, but as the Sons went, he was a pretty decent human being and was showing that he could pick up the tricks of hunting and dark magic as efficiently as he had ever learned to ride a motorcycle, fight and shoot with his fellow bikers. The sweetbutts – the female groupies of the Sons of Anarchy – seemed to be well aware of this fact and several were in a battle with one another to become Munson’s ol’ lady.

Bobby obeyed Munson’s waved gesture and started the Harley’s engine, focusing forward as he’d been told, ignoring the impulse to look back to see where the biker was. That would bring him off balance and he needed to move with the bike, to be part of it. The powerful engine roared like lions around him, like magic which would keep all threats away from him so long as he rode.

When he pulled up outside the bungalow – the same one he’d rented when he and Kyra first came to Charming – part of him felt regretful that the ride was over. Couldn’t circle around again; the machine was so damn loud that Crowley was already at the door to see who was visiting. Bobby couldn’t stop a broad grin as he kicked down the stand, staying straddled on the Harley. He knew how he had to look; beard windblown, the helmet on his head and the battered leather jacket he wore making him indistinguishable from one of the older Sons.

He pulled off the helmet and kept grinning at the sight of Crowley’s astonishment. “Hello there, sweetheart,” he drawled in deliberate imitation of Munson’s own manner when speaking to one of the sweetbutts. “Why don’t you just throw a leg over this saddle here and come for a ride?”

Crowley was almost never thrown for a loop. Bobby sat back on the bike, enjoying the sight. Crowley was, for him, casually dressed. He wasn’t wearing a tie and his black jacket was more casual than his Armani-usual, but his shoes were shined and there was a crease in his black trousers. He walked towards Bobby and stopped in front of the bike, eyebrows up as he inspected every inch of it before slowly letting his gaze drift up to Bobby’s face.

“What _have_ you got between your legs, darling?”

Bobby had thought he was hard before; the constant rumbling motion of the bike touching every part of him, but at the sound of Crowley’s voice, raspy and intimate and knowing, he _felt_ him, right there, as though his fingers were already on Bobby. He let out a breathless chuckle.

“You want to find out?”

Crowley settled against his back as instructed, sliding his arms around Bobby’s middle and keeping his feet on the rests behind Bobby’s. He started to say something which Bobby felt rather than heard as he started the bike’s engine again and set it in motion, earning a distinct surprised curse from the King of Hell, whose arms suddenly clutched harder and whose breath whooshed against Bobby’s neck.

Pleasant as this felt, he had to concentrate on what he was doing, on keeping the massive machine on course. It was easy enough to stay balanced once he had the trick of it, but you couldn’t ever let your attention lapse. Though the road was empty ahead of them, that could change in seconds. The Sons and various townsfolk had cleared the roads in and around Charming of destroyed vehicles and obstacles, but there were still those who thought that the apocalypse was simply a chance for burnouts and chaos at the wheel.

Not all of those were bikers.

Crowley yelled something about stopping, probably wanting to know where in damnation they were headed, Bobby thought, grinning wildly into the wind. He did in fact have a destination in mind. It was one of the properties he’d done checks on, in his brief career as a roving security guard in the pay of the Charming Police Department. 

His exhilaration rose again as they thundered along, Crowley plastered against him, as intimate as sex, the reverberations of the bike drumming through them and linking them. Yet it felt like cheating at the same time, it lacked completion and left Bobby aching and desperate. This time he was glad to see the buildings ahead and to leave the dirt road for the gateway, now broken, and to brake – remembering to decrease speed – in front of the deserted barn.

He laughed aloud as the silence fell and he could now hear Crowley’s steady, dazzled cursing behind him. Bobby climbed off the bike once the kickstand was down and held out a hand to the King of Hell, who looked at him as though wondering when he was going to wake up.

“How’s that feel?” Bobby greeted him. It had seemed so long since he’d enjoyed anything and he didn’t want to let it fade. Crowley scrambled awkwardly off the Harley and stood visibly gathering his self possession.

“It feels very interesting, darling,” he said at last. He licked his lips, grimacing slightly as he felt dust, then waved a hand, muttering under his breath. He was pristine once more, every hair in place, and Bobby felt like he’d never wanted him more. Yet Crowley was looking like he wasn’t even worked up. Bobby tried to think what to say. He was no good at flirting, never had been, and no wonder Crowley’s early attempts had gone right over his head. Even now, they always managed better when they just didn’t bother with pretty words.

Then the demon smiled slowly, his gaze studying Bobby and drifting lower. “I do have a most interesting itch, though,” he observed. “Perhaps I should ask you to help me with it.”

Bobby moved forward and so did Crowley, who still seemed calm and almost indifferent, right up until Bobby touched him, stroking down his chest. The demon grabbed his hand and pulled it to his own groin where Bobby felt rock hardness greet him. He chuckled out loud, feeling Crowley shiver, “You damn faker!”

“Call me all the names you like,” Crowley hissed into his ear. “Just fuck me while you’re doing it, Bobby Singer!”

“Inside. There’s a mattress….”

Crowley let Bobby pull him inside. Bobby knew he was letting him; there was no way he could really compel Crowley, even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. Part of the pleasure was knowing he’d made this demon want him enough to break his own rules.

“You do take me to delightful places,” Crowley commented now, looking around the dusty interior of the structure. The only contents were farm machinery and, in a corner, the aforesaid mattress. Crowley sighed as he saw Bobby’s expression, and waved a hand towards the mattress, which briefly glowed and subsided. “There. It’s clean now, anyhow.”

“We don’t _have_ to…”

Crowley smirked; the look which indicated he wanted to play.

“You will in a moment, Robert.” He made a sound like purring, pressing hard against Bobby, raising up so that he could rub himself against Bobby’s dick through their pants. “Oh my.”

“Yeah, you too,” Bobby gasped. He felt as though the bike’s engine was still thrumming through his body, urging him to action. He wanted to sheathe himself in Crowley, pump hard into him and feel Crowley push back at him, making those _sounds_. 

“You need to fuck me now, darling,” Crowley whispered in Bobby’s ear as though they might somehow be heard and discovered. That risk always made Crowley hot, Bobby knew. Some of their most passionate moments had occurred, if not in public, then not all that far from it. “Right now or it’ll all be over before we start and that would be such a….ah, such a _waste!”_

Bobby stepped back to pull his clothes off, watched Crowley strip slowly, deliberately, like he didn’t care. Crowley had been the one to wake these feelings in him, or at least, make them real and solid. Now, Bobby Singer couldn’t get enough of him, the stocky, masculine body, that wicked grin which indicated he was in a mood for ravishment and, of course, Crowley’s considerable assets.

“Do that damn spell,” Bobby said, which as always made Crowley laugh. It meant the cantrip – and trust a demon to have a spell for this – that would lube his cock and ease the thrust of that hard spear into Crowley’s eager hole. He rubbed his hand over Crowley’s own dick, stroking his achingly full balls. Crowley always loved such attentions and it wouldn’t be gentlemanly not to consider his needs as well. 

So Bobby tended to both front and rear – the rubbery touch of those balls under his fingers, the thrust of Crowley’s cock into his palm, even while his own urgency grew. He eased the demon down on to the mattress, parting his plump legs with hands that knew the way of this now, just as he knew what Crowley wanted next. He lowered his head over that big cock and took Crowley into his mouth, tending to him while he gasped and moaned and encouraged Bobby on.

“I want you inside,” Crowley cried out, and Bobby lifted himself, crawling up and over him, just as a part of his mind asked him what on earth he was doing, playing these games with a demon? How he’d come to a stage when he wanted this, as much or more as he had ever wanted anything. Yes, he’d do what Crowley wanted, but it was what _he_ wanted too, to fulfil these desires which were now as much a part of him as they were of Crowley.

Skin against skin, his chest against Crowley’s, crouched over him and positioned, the demon’s legs up and apart, showing that slick, hard cock and balls which Bobby had adored, Bobby prepared to take him – or was he being drawn in? Crowley threw his head back, his body trembling with lust and ecstasy as he lay under the hunter, everything quivering as he pressed himself against Bobby. “Shove it in, darling, that’s right, again! _Harder – I’m going to come._ ” 

Bobby Singer rammed his desperate cock to the hilt inside Crowley’s rear in answer to his lover’s demand, giving everything he had in a last, wonderful onslaught, hearing Crowley’s shriek as he came, joining him in that delight, his pressured cock releasing hot wetness over Bobby, bearing him down to delicious, relaxed peace at last. They were both silent for long moments after that, until Crowley murmured, “We’d better wait awhile before the ride back.”

“Why’d you want to wait?”

“Because if it has that effect again, darling, you might hurt yourself if you don’t get a breather.”

“Ha,” Bobby muttered, arms around him, not wanting to move. “I think I’m gonna need to get a bike of my own.”


End file.
